On New Year's Day 2005, the two tennis courts at Raymond Rec in the Georgia Ave/Petworth neighborhood of Washington D.C. were littered with glass, encroached by brush, cracked, and missing a net. Peron, a neighbor, saw Rachel and I picking up pieces of glass, and he offered us a broom. Together, the three of us planned free Monday night tennis lessons, open to all the neighborhood kids, which Rachel and I led throughout that spring and summer.

On July 17th, 2005, the courts at Raymond Rec celebrated PLAY TENNIS DAY. Over the course of one Sunday, volunteers built and installed a tennis wall, painted a community mural, offered free lessons, provided t-shirts, and lunch, and enjoyed live matches between Howard University men's and women's tennis teams. The left panel on the tennis wall reads: "From what we get, we can make a living. What we give, however, makes a life." ~Arthur Ashe

New Year's Day 2005 in Washington D.C. was unseasonably warm, so Rachel Sandler (Iowan) and I (Minnesotan) decided to go out and play tennis. We were living in the Columbia Heights neighborhood just before the arrival of the Super Giant grocery store (and the sweeping transformations that would follow) and the closest tennis courts to us were a short walk away behind Raymond Elementary School. When we arrived, we saw the two courts were littered with glass. There were holes in the fences and only one net. We debated looking for another court, but instead started picking up the glass. Soon, Peron Williams, a neighbor, came over to offer us a push broom, and when we had cleared one court, we started to play. Peron stuck around to watch.

Afterward, Peron told us that the tennis courts had once thrived--with neighbors lining up to play--but that i﻿n recen﻿t years, the courts had been neglected, taken over by rough characters and drugs. Peron was glad to see the courts used for tennis again.

Rachel and I were fellows in AVODAH at the time: a social justice service corps dedicated to anti-poverty work and the exploration of "intentional community": living consciously and connectedly with others. We were both lifelong tennis players and had taught tennis in other settings. I suggested to Peron that we offer free tennis lessons to the neighborhood kids, giving them the chance to learn a new sport with the hopes of them taking back the court. Peron, who happened to be president of the local ANC, loved the idea and offered his support.

Starting in spring and throughout the summer, Rachel and I offered free Monday night tennis lessons to anyone who showed up. And they did show up: around 20 kids each week, ranging from six to fourteen years old. With so many kids on just two courts, the lessons were chaotic--but so what. We taught them forehands and volleys, played eye-hand coordination games and shouted encouragement. Most important, the kids were out having fun together on their home courts.And how to make it stick? How to give kids more opportunities to play and develop their skills? How to celebrate the courts' renewal? How to draw attention to the need for new nets, a repaired fence, and repaved courts? How to hand over the tools of our play and sustain tennis at Raymond Rec even after our Monday night lessons ended?

Play Tennis Day began as an answer to these questions.

My fellowship placement that year was with the Behrend Builders Shelter Repair program, which was run out of the Community Service Center at the DC JCC. Behrend Builders helped me see the value of partnerships and community investment for creating sustainable change. ﻿Play Tennis Day's catalyst partnership happened when Peron Williams lent Rachel and I the broom.﻿ Next, Denise Skinner and the Washington Tennis Association recognized our common work and came on-board. As did Shaw District's Tennis at Shiloh Chuch Program. Peron brought the ANC, which reached out to then-City Councillor (and future DC Mayor) Adrian Fenty. We secured grants from Coca Cola and Clif Bar. Finally, the Howard University tennis teams agreed to join in. The week before Play Tennis Day, D.C. Parks and Recreation took action to repave the courts, mend the fences, and hang new nets. The stage was set for a celebration.

On the swelteringly hot morning of Sunday, July 17th, 2005, a dozen volunteers built a tennis wall under guidance from Behrend's skilled volunteers Kenton Campbell and Richard Feldman. By noon, a mural team made up of neighbors (including some walk-ups) and volunteers began painting a community mural on the wall led by artist Carrie Madigan (whom we found via Craigslist). At the same time, Denise Skinner and the Washington Tennis Association teamed with the Tennis at Shiloh Program to engage the neighborhood kids in tennis games and giveaways, competitions and free barbecue. There was music, ice cream, and fun for all who came together--many lives making an unlikely intersection through the work and play of Play Tennis Day. When the mural was complete, Peron, Rachel, and I shared our story and dedicated the wall. To cap the day, the Howard University men's and women's tennis teams played exhibition matches to inspire the kids to keep playing.

On the tennis wall, we painted this quote from American tennis great and humanitarian Arthur Ashe: "From what we get, we can make a living. What we give, however, makes a life."

﻿That was ten years ago this weekend. About a month after Play Tennis Day, my fellowship with AVODAH ended, and I moved out of Columbia Heights, back to my parents' house in Minnesota where I waited tables, saved money, and planned for an uncommon journey through Latin America. The spirit of those travels was in many ways forged and inspired at the Raymond Recreation tennis courts: belief in Arthur Ashe's philosophy that what we give makes a life, and that sharing something you love--such as tennis--can help cross barriers of language, race, or background that might otherwise divide us. In the summer of 2005, we put up a functional, beautiful wall that stood for others we had torn down in the process.In the years since, I sometimes wondered if I left the project too soon--not at its end, but at its very beginning. What if we had continued the lessons another year or more? What if we had set our sights on a more distant goal?

After I moved away, friends in D.C. would occasionally send me pictures of the tennis wall. Each one reminded me of what we had accomplished. But I also watched graffiti creep across the wall's surface, marring its images. This past winter, I visited D.C. and saw that the entire park at Raymond Recreation had been renovated, including a new artificial turf soccer field and a state-of-the-art playground. The space looked clean and inviting; so changed from when Rachel and I first visited. Also changed: instead of two tennis courts, there was only one. And the tennis wall was gone.

I asked around, but no one at the park that day knew if or how the wall had been discarded (I still hope to find out), nor did they remember how Raymond Rec looked before the renovation. So I lingered awhile, listening outside and in, then continued with my day. Places change. People move and move on. You know. You've wondered, too: what endures?

This weekend, I have been remembering Play Tennis Day and all the individuals who came together to support tennis and community at Raymond Rec. I remember each of them, how gladly they played and gave, how full our time together felt. I still believe that partnerships, vision, and person-to-person generosity are what make the biggest difference in our communities and lives.

Ten years ago, after we finished painting, we invited all of the kids present that day, many of whom had played at our Monday night tennis lessons over the previous months, to paint their hands and make a trail of handprints across the bottom of the mural.

I wonder if any of those kids still play tennis. I wonder if they remember how it felt to press their wet, paint-covered hands against that plywood wall.

(click below to read PDFs of articles published in a local NW D.C. newspaper about our free tennis lessons at Raymond Rec and about Play Tennis Day)

Gabby Wallace sat at one of my tables back in 2010 when I was a server at a Latin American restaurant in Brookline Village. We got to talking about travel and language, and she bought a copy of Wonder/Wander.

This is one of the pleasures of publishing: finding common ground and connection with people whom you might not otherwise meet, being part of a conversation that compels you and is bigger than you.

Self-publishing is not equal to being selected by an established publisher in many peoples' eyes, even as the line between them becomes increasingly thin. As a writer, it's worth considering: what will satisfaction look like when your writing is complete?

During the creative stage, you control the quality of your writing, as well as the time and effort you put into the work. Self-publishing takes your control one step further, ensuring that your work is able to be read. Yes, I wanted the publisher's seal of approval for Wonder/Wander (I sent it as an unsolicited manuscript to Graywolf, Coffee House Press, and Milkweed Editions in 2009). But deeper than that, I wanted to share my experience and myself through what I had written. I wanted to make my book.

Publishing brought satisfaction in quiet, intimate ways: when I held my book in my hands for the first time; when I gave copies to my family and closest friends. And this: meeting like-spirits, like Gabby, who find the book and share their stories; who join me in the conversations, which illuminate our larger work.

]]>Sat, 24 Jan 2015 17:58:59 GMThttp://www.aarondevine.net/the-park-blog/harvard-interview-writing-at-childrens-hospitalI met Julia Moss a couple of years ago at Boston Children's Hospital where she--as a local high school student--volunteered with our Creative Arts Program by sharing her cartooning skills with patients. Now she's a freshman at Harvard and co-founder of the Harvard College Medical Humanities Forum (HCMHF), designed to create opportunities for students to discuss and write about the intersections between medicine and the arts/humanities.

Thanks, Julia, for the great work you do: lending company and levity to the patients at Children's Hospital, and bringing awareness to the vital overlap between medicine and the arts.

Medical Humanities Spotlight: Aaron Devine, Writer-in-Residence at Boston Children’s Hospitalby Julia Moss ‘18Aaron Devine has worked as the Writer-in-Residence at Boston Children’s Hospital since 2011. He has an MFA in Creative Writing from UMass Boston, where he currently teaches English as a Second Language and “The Language of Illness” course in the Honors College (Spring 2015). I had the opportunity to speak with Aaron about his experience helping young patients express themselves through creative writing. JM: How did you first become involved in the Creative Arts Program at Children’s and start out as the writer-in-residence here?AD: I heard about an opening for the position at Children’s while I was volunteering with 826 Boston, which is a tutoring and creative writing center in Roxbury. They work with school age kids, helping them with their homework but then also inspiring them to write stories and poetry and imagine. At 826 Boston, they say yes to every idea. They don’t focus on form or grammar or spelling but instead on ideas and imagination. It really inspires the kids there, and I saw that firsthand. I always feel that the experience that helped me get the job here at Children’s was the 826 work.Also, I was trained as a hospital clown when I was living in Caracas, Venezuela. I wanted to do something to be part of the community. I had learned about a volunteer group of hospital clowns that visited children, so I got involved with them and had a lot of fun. I had two weeks of intensive training about what it means to visit kids who are sick and what it means to put authority in their hands when they’re in a hospital.What I always try to do now in the creative writing program at Boston Children’s is to give kids the decision-making power. Being the author of the story means you have that authority to make all the decisions, so I say yes to everything, just like in 826. So if the patient wants to write a story that combines Spiderman and Downton Abbey, then we can do that. It’s all about empowering kids to make the decisions and the choices that they want.So, working with 826 Boston and volunteering as a hospital clown in Venezuela are really the two experiences that led me to my current job at Children’s. I’m a writer but I also believe in the value of writing as a tool for individuals and communities. To me, writing doesn’t just exist in a room – it’s part of how we process and enjoy our world, so it needs to be shared.JM: Do you think you could tell me a little bit more about what you do here at Children’s Hospital? What does a typical workday look like for you as a writer-in-residence?AD: It changes every time I come, but I can describe it in its bare, essential form. First, I get a list from the child life specialist of which patients might need a visit for company or to give their family a break or because they really need to express something or because they voiced an interest in this kind of activity. Then I just go door-to-door and say, “Hi, I’m Aaron. I do creative writing projects here. Would you like to do an activity together?”Each day, I try to come with a few projects in mind. Today it’s very, very cold in Boston, so I have a couple of prompts about creative thermostats. For example, we know that 32 degrees is the temperature at which water freezes. But what is the temperature at which you will not get out of your bed, or the temperature at which you will put on four shirts?I also just try to get to know the patient. Maybe they love snowboarding or maybe they love SpongeBob or maybe they’re going through a hard round of chemo and they have something they want to say about any of those things. We just look for a form to put it in, whether it’s a story or a poem or just a splatter of ideas. I bring my training in creative writing to the point of extracting the ideas. This involves a lot of question-asking, giving some shape to the ideas, reinforcing for the patient some satisfaction with the work that they did, and then giving them a product at the end that they can share with their family or even with their medical staff.I always try to give patients an interaction where they feel seen, they had some fun, or they had some thoughts that they had validated. But there are two ways that the projects go – one is the fun, imaginative, wacky, and silly route. We just get to be playful. The other way is toward really trying to put into words something that patients are having a hard time expressing.I love this quote that I heard at a Lesley University conference on arts and health care: “The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.”Every time I go into a patient room there’s this desire to proclaim something that’s just beneath the surface and there’s also this desire to hide something. The hospital has a lot of routine language and recycled language that gets tossed around. Sometimes I see our patients get sort of trapped in the routines, and sometimes these creative writing projects can open up that door to patients’ own individual expression and let them say what they really want to say.JM: How do you go about deciding whether to engage in a playful, imaginative project or a more serious project with a patient?AD: It’s a read. As I’m asking my get-to-know-you questions or noticing what I see in the room, I’m taking the temperature of the place and figuring it out. Part of it is instinct. JM: Do you always give patients a prompt – like the creative thermostat question from today – or do you sometimes let them choose their own prompts?AD: I like giving prompts, but I like it best when patients create their own. There was one patient a couple weeks ago who liked to write and told me so. I asked her to give us the prompt and she said, “write about a character who’s trapped in a dream and it’s a strange and wonderful place and the dream ends when she finds her escape.” And then we just both sat down to write stories inspired by her prompt.JM: I love that you followed the prompt the patient came up with, too.AD: That can be another way to give patients a laugh or a strange image that takes them out of the hospital environment.JM: So do you have any other particular pieces of patient writing that stand out in your mind?AD: One of my favorite projects that we did was with an older patient who was on dialysis and had been for a number of years. Her project was an adaption of the hit song from the musical Rent, “Seasons of Love.” The song imagines all these different ways to count a year in your life. We rewrote the lyrics of it to be all the ways to count the time that you spend on dialysis, which is 3 hours a day for 3 days a week. There were really silly comments about measuring that time in ginger ale and inside jokes with nurses and things like that. But there were also some really honest and heartbreaking details about measuring the year in the medicines she had to take, her dietary restrictions, and things like that. We got together with one of the music therapists and put it to music. We sang her lyrics. And we recorded, with the videographer, some video of the dialysis unit – the machines, the gloves, the protocol, the murals on the wall, the ceiling tiles, all these little details. That was a really consummate project that I think helped the patient express something she wanted to say about her experience, make art from it, and bring people together around it.JM: I had the chance to read the lyrics of this new version of “Seasons of Love” in The View from Here, the collection of patient writing you published a few years ago. There are two editions of The View from Here, right?AD: Yes, as a hospital we have two editions. The first one was under Ian Schimmel, who was the former writer-in-residence. The second one was a project under my guidance. We’re due for a third.JM: In the second edition I noticed a piece of writing written collaboratively by multiple patients. How did that work? How can this type of collaboration benefit patients?AD: Probably the piece you saw was by two teenage girls writing about their high school friends wondering about what their life was like in the hospital. There was a lot of sarcasm and sass in that one. They just fed off of each other, going down the list of ideas that they had about what people were saying and thinking and gossiping about. It’s great that patients can feed off each other’s ideas.That’s what I mean about writing being social, writing being something shared. Part of the reason why we write is so that someone will read and understand us a little bit better.* * *Like “The Creative Arts at Boston Children’s Hospital” on Facebook to read stories patients have written with Aaron’s guidance, and to view art projects patients have created in collaboration with other artists-in-residence at the hospital – including films, paintings, and cartoons.

HCMHF strives to foster a community in which undergraduates who are interested in the intersection between medicine and the humanities can collectively explore their academic interests and passions. Through discussion and writing, we hope to address the often-overlooked question of how humanities studies can prepare aspiring clinicians to treat patients -- a responsibility that requires not only scientific knowledge but also the very human ability to engage patients as people.

]]>Thu, 11 Dec 2014 13:20:44 GMThttp://www.aarondevine.net/the-park-blog/throwback-thursdayBack in 2009, I promoted Wonder/Wander on local cable-access shows: "Tu Opinion Cuenta" (with William Pena), "The Callaloo Express" (with Lynnette Laveau Save), and "El Show de Fernandito" (with Fernando Bossa). Below is the interview from "El Show de Fernandito" (7min 15sec; English and Spanish).

Each appearance was fun and forced me to find the language--in both languages--for talking about the book, the journey, and the reasons for both. At that time, I was waiting tables at Orinoco Kitchen in Brookline Village where we had a small display of Wonder/Wander books for sale. I rarely pushed them, but customers would browse and from time-to-time someone came to dine who was from Venezuela or had traveled Central America or had a son interested in Spanish language or who just identified with the spirit of the work and they would buy a copy from me, their waiter. I enjoyed that serendipitous sales approach. I never expected Wonder/Wander to climb the sales charts or be thrust on people whom it didn't interest. Instead, I think books are as diverse as people, and we need to find the ones that resonate with and inside of us. Even as I use social media as a promotions tool, I believe that books find their readers and readers find their books through much subtler channels: the same ones that connect us to friends or lovers.

Thanks to everyone who attended last Sunday's reading at Dot2Dot Cafe. We filled the place! Special thanks to Louis for his guitar accompaniment and Nathalie for the great photos. And to Dot2Dot Cafe and On the Dot Books for co-hosting.

I heard Eimear McBride read at Porter Square Books last month. Her award-winning book A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing (Incredible. Singular. I highly recommend.) received early rejections from publishers and sat in a drawer 9 years. At the reading, she was asked what it was like to promote a book she'd written so long ago. McBride said that when she writes, it's like being in love. "I'm not in love with Girl anymore," she said. "I'm in love with [the book I'm currently writing] … but I want to honor who I was when I wrote Girl."

When I published Wonder/Wander in 2009, I envisioned a performative reading of this sort. But I was newly returned to Boston and didn't have the confidence or community. Now, five years later, reading in Dorchester, the neighborhood I call home, among friends from so many parts of my life, and strangers who shared a piece of their Sunday, felt so good. It felt like honoring who I was when I lived and wrote Wonder/Wander.

So again, thank you.

If you missed the reading, please enjoy these photos and video excerpt. You can still order Wonder/Wander online here. Consider giving it as a gift this holiday season, and/or sharing your support for Wonder/Wander on social networks (if you own a copy, post a photo of W/W on your bookshelf. Tag me in the photo and then tag a few friends who you think would enjoy reading it). Finally, if you know other venues for live readings, please put me in touch--I'd love to do this again.

Is Wonder/Wander on your bookshelf?Post a picture to Facebook or Twitter. Then tag me and tag friends you'd recommend it to.

Five years after publishing W/W, I'm promoting it with social media for the first time. Thanks in advance if you can pitch in a few clicks, posts, likes, or shares.

Here I have W/W sitting pretty with some of my favorite authors whom I've met in person--many are friends. They are all recommended reads, including April Ranger's "The Sacred Heartbeat of Consent" (which has tons of spine, but no text on the book's spine).